


The Hand that Feeds You (the trapped in destiny remix)

by ArgentSleeper



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentSleeper/pseuds/ArgentSleeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is angry, and Merlin is <em>there.</em></p><p>It really wasn't that complicated.  The real trouble would come afterwords, in how Merlin could possibly forgive him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hand that Feeds You (the trapped in destiny remix)

**Author's Note:**

> Amphigoury, I was so excited to have the chance to remix one of your AMAZING artworks! When I saw your [bear trap art](http://amphigoury.livejournal.com/2139.html) I knew I had to do it. I was inspired by wondering what the backstory was. Why wasn't Merlin with him? Why was Arthur so convinced no one would even care to come for him? So I came up with this as an explanation. I hope you like it! :)
> 
> Many thanks to B for the emergency beta. I owe you muchly!

Silence.  Sometimes all a person needed was _silence_.

Yet it was the one thing that Arthur never seemed able to get.  Funny how a man who had the power to command quiet was always surrounded by noise anyway.  It didn’t matter if no one was talking, because the voices in his head, the ones that droned along, listing out everything he still needed to do, everything that could go wrong with those things, and how he could potentially fix those potential problems, those voices never went away.

Until now.

Alright, perhaps it wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done.  But Arthur had had enough.  It seemed no one was willing to leave him alone that day, from the cook to the court to his manservant.  Usually Merlin was the one Arthur minded the least prattling along throughout the day.  He had built up an ability to tune his friend out remarkably, until it simply became an almost pleasant bit of white noise.

But not that day.

That day it never seemed to stop.  He had to fix a dispute among the coal miners.  He had to listen to petition after petition from the people of the villages to the north, where a drought was causing near starvation.  A young serving boy had been caught stealing from a noble’s room; they were somehow out of flour and the cook was frantically apologizing for the confusion with her deliveries; the knights were growing restless with the almost odd stretch of peace.

Then there was Merlin.  Merlin who had spent the entire day moping, his face so pathetically long that Arthur had taken to giving him a new task every time he caught a glance of him just so he didn’t have to look at him.  Arthur couldn’t avoid him all day, though, and things had come to a head when Merlin brought him his evening meal then settled down in a corner to sharpen his sword while the king ate.  Merlin did it all in complete silence, and after an entire day of being nattered to by everyone under the sun, Arthur would have thought the peace and quiet would have been a blessing.

But it wasn’t.  Because it wasn’t peaceful, it was just quiet.  His nerves already frayed, it wasn’t long before he finally had to snap, “What _is it, Mer_ lin?”

“Sire?”  Merlin looked up from his work, confused, but still with that sad look behind his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you this time?”

“Nothing.”

The denial only served to irritate the king more.  “Don’t lie to me.  You know you’re no good at it.  Just explain to me why you look like someone just drowned your puppy.”

Merlin sighed and went back to his sharpening.  “Really, I’m fine,” he mumbled unconvincingly.  A bit louder he asked, “Why don’t you tell me why you look like someone put bees in your bread this morning?  Did we wake up on the wrong side of the table again?”

“Shut up, Merlin.”  The order held none of its normal gruff teasing manner, something Merlin picked up immediately.

“Did something happen today?”  Arthur stared moodily into his stew and didn’t answer.  If Merlin didn’t want to talk to him, then Arthur could play that game too.  “Arthur?”  Merlin set the sword down and came over to sit at the table.  “Arthur, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Merlin.  Just go do your job and let me get back to doing mine.”  He stood up abruptly from the table and walked over to his desk.  He didn’t make it far before he heard a muttered voice.

“Well, _someone’s_ touchy today.”

Arthur whirled around.  “ _Excuse me?_   I know it’s a difficult concept for you to remember, _Mer_ lin, but I am your _king_.  That means you must treat me with a modicum of respect.  You cannot speak to me that way.”  A small, ignored part in the back of Arthur’s mind told him Merlin never really did speak to him that way, not these days, not unless Arthur himself had done something to provoke it.  Like he was doing now.

“I think I’m pretty much done with speaking to you entirely, _sire_ ,” Merlin replied mulishly, his anger at least wiping out the former traces of depression.

“Good.  Because _some of us_ actually have jobs to do.  Ones that involve us actually working hard, not skivvying off at every possible opportunity to go to the tavern.”

“Yes, it must be hard work, rebuilding everything your family has destroyed.”

It was below the belt, and they both knew it.  Merlin, his anger instantly replaced by a stricken expression, opened his mouth again, likely to apologize, but Arthur unfortunately was quicker, and he knew how to deal the lowest blow of all.  “Arthur, I didn’t mea–”

“At least I have a family.  You’re nothing more than a bastard child who abandoned his poor mother at the first opportunity.”

Everything froze at that moment.  Regret stretched taut between them, but not a word was spoken.  Merlin’s mouth bobbed open and closed for a minute in shock, then it snapped closed.  He spun on his heel and left the chambers, slamming the door with enough force to shake the nearby candelabra.

Arthur buried his face in hands.  What had he done?  He didn’t even know where the words had come from.  Merlin was never going to speak to him again.  If he did, Arthur was certain the only words he would hear were “I quit.”  At which point it wouldn’t matter if he did speak again, because he wouldn’t be anywhere near where the king could hear him.  Merlin would return to Ealdor, because it wasn’t true at all, he had never abandoned his mother, would never abandon her.  Arthur could only dream of ever having the relationship that existed between Merlin and Hunith.

“Arthur, I just passed Merlin in the corridors.  He looked upset.  I tried to ask him what was wrong, but he wouldn’t answer me.  Arthur?”

A hand fell onto his forearm, and he looked up into Guinevere’s eyes.  He couldn’t tell her what he’d done.  He couldn’t even think himself about what he’d done.  “I-I just told him we’re going on a hunting trip tomorrow.  You know how much he hates hunting.”

She frowned.  “He looked more upset than that.  Did something happen between you two?  Perhaps you ought to do something to make it up to him?”

“What makes you so certain it’s _my_ fault?  What about him?”  It _was_ his fault, but she was his wife, if only in name!  Shouldn’t she take his side first?

Guinevere raised an eyebrow.  “Because I know you, and I know Merlin.  If he had done something, he would be pestering you nonstop until you forgave him, not storming off angry.  You’re the one who looks guilty, no matter how much you try to hide it behind anger of your own.”

Why did she always have to be right?  “I may have… said something.”

“Then like I said, you should make it up to him.  Maybe let him out of the hunting trip tomorrow?”

There wasn’t actually a hunting trip planned, but an idea was forming in his head.  “Yes, I suppose I could do that.  Could you… I mean, do you think you could tell Merlin he has the week off?”  He knew he was being a coward, but he didn’t yet have the guts to go talk to his friend himself.

Guinevere smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  “Of course.  And don’t worry, Arthur.  Everything will be alright.  Merlin cares about you far too much to hold a grudge for long.”

Arthur just nodded shortly.  He waited until she was gone from the room before he sprang into action, packing what he thought he’d need.  He had to stop and think several times.  He hadn’t done this by himself in a long time; it was always Merlin who prepared their bags.  He meant to leave a note.  Really he did.  Even a simple something assuring he had been been enchanted and kidnapped away.  But then he realized Merlin wouldn't care right now if he was.

At the edge of the city, he looked back, finding the window behind which he knew there was a young man not sleeping, but pacing angrily, fuming about how his friend and lover had just treated him and probably wishing it wouldn’t be considered regicide to stab him in the gut.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” he murmured.  “Sometimes I wish I weren’t king either.”

Then he was off to the woods, truly alone for the first time in he didn’t know how long.


End file.
